I Hold You in My Arms
by Salysha
Summary: Jin is the end of Hwoarang, and Azazel seals both their fates. Deathfic, first-person narrative, present tense, culminates in Tekken 6. Slash, yaoi, Jin/Hwoarang.


**Disclaimer**: Tekken and Tekken characters are the property of Namco Limited. This is nonprofit fan fiction.

**Warnings**: Deathfic, first-person narrative, present tense, spoilers for Tekken 6. M-rated slash and yaoi, portrayal of a romantic, physical m/m relationship. If any of these bother you, skip this story and find something else. Jin/Hwoarang.

Request by **Leonaloir**.

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**I Hold You in My Arms  
**as told by Jin

by Salysha

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I hold you in my arms, and I am fighting.

Fighting back the urge, that is. Or you are fighting me. The fantasy and the reality mix, and I lose track of which is which. I have just met you and learned your name: Hwoarang.

The embrace is but a fantasy at this point, and the look you give me says that it will never amount to more. Then, by accident, your eyes hold mine, and I realize: we are the same. You realize it, too, visibly startled, and the seeds of our discord are laid that moment. You hate us both for what you have learned about yourself, and you are terrified of being found out. Fear springs hatred, and I can't rightfully blame you. Still, not long after, I wonder if you followed me to the tournament for a conclusion or something else.

What I remember from the tournament afterward, I wish I could forget, but I what I can't remember, I wish I did. I have a memory of something that I'm not sure happened. The image is so hazy, I don't know if it's true. I go on and live for my vengeance, but the haunting vagueness comes back, and I feel I should remember something important. I think you were there and, somehow... saved me.

The image fades to nothing over time, as I undo the past through each careful kata, but the feeling lingers. The feeling strengthens to a resolve: when the time comes, I will find a way to pay you back. The punching bag nods in agreement.

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I hold you in my arms, and I am crying.

I sob into your hair relentlessly. _I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry..._ You saved me, and I could not repay you. You were down when I found you. I want to take you with me, but you aren't breathing right. I can't carry you. I hear footsteps; I know it is more of them. They can save you, when I can't.

I lay you down and leave you to the wolves, and I will never forgive myself.

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I hold you in my arms, and I am smiling.

You forgave me for what I could not have forgiven myself. I have to feel you to be sure that this is true, and my hand on your chest draws you from your abstracted reverie. I have disturbed you, but you smile. I'm not sure which one of us leans further before our lips touch. The pecks, humorous and small, are a seal and a conclusion to what we have just shared, but it doesn't stop there.

The kisses deepen; the lips are captured hungrily and released swollen, only to be ensnared again. The caresses are not restricted on the lips alone. I shift carefully, finding myself pressed against your thigh now. The remains of chastity are stripped as you take my hand beneath the covers. My surprise and joy cannot be contained when I discover you ready for a second round—interested in having one. I have never been as sated as minutes ago, but now, the feeling is replaced by want.

Your chest is now neatly trapped beneath mine, and our mouths brush intimately, our thighs even more so... Your body shapes to mine, and I find it arousing, pleased when you do the same. I lean down and taste you. We know how to do this; we want this. You want this as much as I do. All limbs and naked skin and compelling desire, we finally settle into place. I'm not sure if you push me more than I pull us both. I am kneeling on the bed, one foot on the ground. I need the ground beneath my feet to keep me sane.

You open to me and invite me in. I kiss along your leg, resting on my shoulder, as I take shallow thrusts that drive you crazy. On the edge of my sanity, I bury myself in. I was sated earlier; now, I can indulge in sating another kind of hunger, mine as well as yours. The want runs so deep, it obviates the need for urgency. You draw me near, close enough to crush you, and our pace slows to one of mutual pleasure: slower, grinding, and maddening. I don't stop.

I hold you in my arms, and you are sighing.

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I hold you in my arms, and you are dying.

"You saved me," I say and stroke your face. I will not make your last minutes on this Earth unpleasant. I see the light in your eyes, and I know am doing the right thing by making you believe you did, too.

The Rectifier charged behind our backs, and you placed yourself between him and me. Why, why did you do it? He would not have killed me. You went down; I went after you—and Lars assumed the place of the hero. Azazel is confused; I was the son of fate, but I am not the one fighting him. He became the son of death: yours. It was never you; it wasn't prophesied. It was supposed to be someone older, more seasoned, looking to atone for a wrongdoing that haunts him still, but not you. Your death was not written in the stars.

The pain from the crystal shards is glazing your eyes, but you continue to look at me, happy that you have saved me. I will not take that away from you. You believe my expression to be that of gratitude and affection. Only the latter, Hwoarang. Only the latter. I keep smiling and holding you. What choice do I have, out here?

Your eyes are closing, and the quakes make you tremble violently. I stroke your ear and hold you close until it is over. Lars makes his way to me, smudged and weakened, his walk unsteady. So close now, he prepares to speak, but there is nothing to say. His victory needs no expressing.

I lay you down and rise. He is alive, unlike you, and I want to laugh. As Lars looks at me, startled, I realize I wasn't only thinking it.

I see my future, and it is gray. I look around, and the world has lost color except... gold? The sight has not yet sunk in, as Lars cries out my name. His alarm cuts the air. Azazel has risen from the dead.

Lars steps back, falters on his feet, unable to comprehend. I feel his fear, and yet soothe it not. It is not necessary, so near the end. I shut him out and close my eyes. My fists clench. The energy flows freely, amassing past all known heights and defying the limits of human endurance, even mine. You would envy me so, grandfather. I open my eyes when I am ready, and Azazel waits for me.

The pleas from my side to formulate a plan are easy to ignore because this will not involve any beyond us two, even if Lars wants it otherwise. He remains good to the end. Battling weakness, he falls behind, as I advance in leaps. His calls fade. I think back to you one more time; you are the vision I will take with me. Obliterating two evils will make one right, and your death revoked my right to exist. The Rectifier deals indiscriminate slaughter, and I will stop it. _Your heart is mine, fiend._

Azazel realizes his powerlessness against me too late. I leap at him, but I have no reason left to pull back from the edge, even though I could. The gorge accepts us both. As we fall, I still wonder if I should have checked your pulse, as you lost consciousness.

**_FIN_**

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Reviews are a treat.

**Gypsie** (Gypsie Rose), thank you so much for the proofreading!

**Published** March 16, 2010.


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